


Call Me When You're Sober

by Amaria_Anna_D



Category: Daredevil (TV), Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 14:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/pseuds/Amaria_Anna_D
Summary: For MarriedtoanAvocado for being awesome. Frank helps a drunken Matt home.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For MarriedtoAnAvocado as huge thank you for being so helpful both with the main Fratt House page and the Secret Santa Project.

Red was drunk. Not just a little drunk, either. He was fall off his ass, puking on the curb, giggles and blackouts level of drunk that Frank usually only saw in college girls trying to score with Marines. Exactly what had prompted Red’s drinking, Frank was more or less certain that he didn’t want to fucking know. What he _did_ want to know was just how the hell he was going to get Red—who was still wearing his suit—up the stairs without anyone noticing a vigilante and a wanted man in the building.

“C’mon, Red,” he murmured softly, “up we go. Try to hold the railing for me.”

The smaller man made a vain attempt to grab the fire escape with a limp hand. “Mmmm...” he intoned weakly. “I can make it on my own.”

“Didn’t you drop my bleeding ass on these same steps a few weeks back for sayin’ somethin’ like that?” Frank chuckled.

“Don’ r’member,” Red grumbled.

“Course not,” Frank said with a sigh. He pulled Red’s arm further over his shoulders and hefted more of his weight onto himself. For a small-ish man, he was sure fucking solid as stone.

Thankfully, they made it through the skylight entrance to Red’s apartment with surprisingly little trouble. Even fucked up, the vigilante managed to stay on his feet somehow. Red would likely chalk it up to his father’s Irish genes, but he was certainly a hell of a lot tougher than any Irishman Frank had ever known.

Red sank bonelessly to the couch as Frank began stripping off his gear. He didn’t even raise a hand to help as the other man unzipped the suit and pealed it down to his waist. It took a little prompting for him to raise his hips enough for Frank to finish pulling the god damned onesie off him. Frank said a little pray of thanks that the boxers beneath it were blessedly dry. He’d stripped quite a few drunk Marines that had pissed themselves back years ago and was at least glad he didn’t have to repeat that experience.

“You need to use the john?” he asked as Red’s head began lolling to the side.

“Nope.”

Frank shook his head and went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. “You’re a real talker when you’re drunk, know that, Red?”

This time Red didn’t even react. For a second, Frank thought he’d passed out, but he snapped back to life the instant Frank pressed a cold glass to the back of his hand. Water sloshed out of the cup as he brought it to his lips. It was both amusing and sad to watch a man who was usually so graceful in motion to have trouble taking a fucking drink. Red pushed the glass aside after a few long gulps.

“What do you look like, Frank?” he asked softly.

Frank blinked for a second. “The fuck do you mean ‘what do I look like’?”

“I am blind, you know,” the drunk man quipped with a sad smile. “I know you broke your nose a few times by the way you breathe. I know what kind of shape your in because of touching you. I know you keep your hair short because it doesn’t make as much noise when you run your hands through it. I know all that but I don’t know what you look like.”

It was the first time they’d ever talked about his blindness openly. Frank had danced around the topic a few times only because he wasn’t sure what—if anything—Red could see or exactly just how his ninja bullshit worked. Red seemed so at ease with it that it just didn’t seem to matter. But maybe it did matter…

“Brown eyes. Black hair. Look exactly like the dago I am,” Frank said roughly after thinking for a second.

“You’re fucking hot.”

Frank blinked. “You come to that conclusion on your own?”

Red shook his head seriously. “Karen’s pheromones hit the fucking roof when you’re around. Even Foggy has a mild reaction to you—the kind he can’t lie about to me.”

“Christ,” Frank swore, shaking his head. “So two-thirds of Nelson and Murdock & Co. want to fuck me. Great. Just what I wanted to hear.”

“Three-thirds,” Red announced with a drunken grin, holding up three fingers for good measure.

It was the three fingers that did it. Frank started laughing so hard it hurt his ribs that were still healing from another night. “You sure know how to pick a guy up, Red.”

“No,” the blind man said with a frown. “I don’t. That’s a big part of the problem.”

“Well, why don’t you try when you’re sober,” Frank suggested with a small sigh.

Red grinned. “I will.”

Amazingly, those were the last words he said before curling onto his side and promptly falling asleep. Frank sat on the coffee table, watching Red drool onto the armrest of his couch for a good long while. He was tempted to head to Red’s bed to catch some z’s himself, but he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to continue their conversation in the morning. Instead, he headed for the door a few minutes later. He wasn’t quite ready for anything with anyone yet, and didn’t want to own up to the fact that there was exactly one-third of Nelson and Murdock that he would dearly love to fuck.


End file.
